


Quantum Embodiment

by bzarcher



Series: Widow/Tracer Fics [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Dysmorphia, Clothes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Gender Dysphoria, Manicures & Pedicures, Maybe-not-so-secret Relationship, Mission Chapter, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Secret Relationship, Shopping, Slipstream Accident, Trans Female Character, Trans!Tracer, Widowtracer, gender transition, recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Sometimes when Lena sleeps she feels the blue nothing engulfing her and she knows it’s a dream – or a nightmare. What do you call memories of something that was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to you?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commissioned fic, requesting a WidowTracer secret relationship, and a Trans Tracer who came out after the Slipstream accident and the fall of the original Overwatch. 
> 
> Thank you for trusting me to write this. I hope that it makes you as happy to read this fic as it made me to write it.

As long as she had the bomber jacket, the goggles, and the orange togs on, she was Tracer.

Crouching on a rooftop in King’s Row, she watched as the bomb squad lads from the Plod finally deigned to show up after she’d spent the better part of the last two hours playing cat and mouse with Talon agents and a few of their favorite mercenaries.

The terrorists’ plan had involved driving a truck laden with a massive EMP device into the underground, and the vehicle now sat far too close to the entrance of the Omnic haven for her comfort. Still, Winston, McCree, and Pharah had been able to take down the men escorting the bomb after Tracer had brought down the Australian Junker who’d pinned them in place with his grenades. Once she’d finished that, she’d left her teammates to handle the rank and file goons while she took to the rooftops to drive off the sniper who had been providing Talon with covering fire.

“Tracer to Winston – looks like the bomb’s being disabled now. There’s uniformed police securing the area, and no active hostiles.”

_Good work, Len…ah, sorry, Tracer. Can you make it back to the transport without drawing any more attention?_

She considered that for a moment, then keyed her comm again. “Don’t think so, luv. I’d have to double back and cut across the cordon they’re setting up. Easier if I make my way over to my flat a few blocks over and rendezvous with you back at Gibraltar once the heat’s off.”

The de facto leader of the new Overwatch took just slightly too long to consider that. She was about to draw breath to insist that she _didn’t_ need to come back to Gibraltar for a debrief when she’d probably turn right around and head back to London as soon as possible when his voice came back over her earpiece again. _I understand. Take a few days to lay low and we’ll see you back at the Watchpoint._

Sighing, she pulled the goggles up so she could rub at the bridge of her nose. Why did he have to make this harder than it needed to be? “Roger. See you soon. _Tracer_ out.” Putting that little emphasis on her codename, hoping he’d understand why.

_If I can’t get you, of all people, to use the name I ask you to call me by when we’re in the field, how can I believe the others will use my real name when we’re back home?_

Sliding her goggles back into place, Tracer made sure the next two rooftops that would get her out of the police cordon would be clear, then leapt into the air, her accelerator flaring as she blinked between buildings.

A half hour and two different double-backs to make sure she hadn’t been observed or followed later, Tracer crouched on a fire escape and carefully opened the window of a fifth floor flat from the outside before climbing through and landing in her living room.

It was not the flat that Winston and most of Overwatch believed she lived in, for several reasons. The most important of those reasons being the lavender-skinned woman who was standing in the kitchen in tights and a loose blouse, stirring something in a deep pot as Tracer shut the window behind her.

“ _Bonsoir, chérie._ ” Turning from the stove, Amélie – better known to most of Tracer’s teammates as “the Widowmaker” – gave her lover a half-serious glare. “Did you have to kick me in the same shoulder you dislocated last month?”

Tracer pulled the goggles off her head, dropping them on the counter before running a hand through her perpetually untamed hair before offering an apology. “Sorry, beautiful. I was going for your back and then you twisted around.”

The sniper’s golden eyes softened, and her lips turned up in a small – but very genuine – smile. “I suppose I could find a way to forgive you, then.”

Slipping an arm around the taller woman’s waist, Tracer leaned in to gently kiss the hollow of her throat. “Would it help if I gave you a nice shoulder massage after dinner?”

“Mm, perhaps it would.” Slipping out of the embrace, Amélie pointed down the hallway. “Dinner is almost ready. You should get changed.”

“Good idea. Back in a jiff, then.”

She finally began to disconnect from being Tracer when she reached the bedroom and began to take off her armored vambraces and pistol holsters, setting them in one of the drawers of her dresser. She kicked off her clogs next, then took a deep breath before putting a hand on one of the shoulder buckles of her Chronal Accelerator’s harness.

_You’re fine as long as it’s within ten feet. You’re ok, Lena. You can do this. You can. It’s like jumping in a lake, easier to just get it over with…_

Closing her eyes, she opened the buckle and let herself exhale. Still here. Mentally kicking herself a bit for not just getting on with it, she opened the next buckle, disconnecting the clamshell plates around her waist, and finally loosened the straps at her thighs before sliding the harness down her legs and stepping out of the entire apparatus.

“Ok. Still here. Still here, still here, still here…” The jacket came away next as she continued to mutter the mantra, followed by her tights. She left her briefs on, but tugged off her sports bra and dropped it on her growing pile of dirty clothes before opening the bedroom closet. She could feel a wave of relief wash through her as she left Tracer behind, at least for a little while, and just let herself be _Lena_.

She pondered her closet for a few minutes, then decided to go for a scoop neck top and a pair of shorts before buckling the accelerator’s harness back on.

When Lena reached the kitchen, Amélie had bowls of a rich looking beef stew set out for them, along with rolls and a bottle of wine. “Feeling better, _mon amour_?”

Lena could feel her cheeks warming as she sat down, that silly smile on her face that seemed to always be there when Amélie did little things like this. (Or not so little – by the heavenly smell of the stew, she must have started cooking the meal hours before Talon had called Widowmaker into the field.) “Starting to, yeah. This looks amazing, Am.”

“Hopefully you think it tastes as good as it looks.” Despite the depreciating tone, Lena smiled at the quiet flash of pride in Amélie’s eyes, and when she took her first spoonful of the stew, it was wonderfully rich and flavorful.

“You know,” Lena joked after she’d tucked away more than half her bowl and a significant portion of her glass of wine, “if you ever wanted to sign on in Gibraltar, I would vouch for your value on the cooking alone.” Most of her colleagues meant well when they signed up for cooking duties, but the results were varied, at best.

Amélie took a sip of wine, obviously considering how to reply. She ran a fingertip around the rim of the wineglass before shrugging. “Thanks to Sombra’s assistance, I am…appreciating being an _independent contractor_ , as she put it.” The sniper paused again, and her eyes were touched with concern. “From what you have told me about your difficulties there, I wonder if I would ever feel truly welcome in Overwatch. Too many of them seem determined to cling to the past.”

Lena sighed. “Point.” Occupying herself with finishing her wine, she considered the empty glass for a moment, then poured herself a refill, taking another healthy drink before following up on that thought. “Jesse made another ‘Wild Bill’ joke after I took Fawkes down. Winston growled at him for it, but _still_ …”

Amélie wordlessly reached across the table, and Lena intertwined her fingers with the Frenchwoman’s, squeezing tight for a long moment, a knot of tension she’d been holding in for half the night finally unworking itself.

“I think he’s trying to be nice – he always used to make that joke before, but it _hurts_ now. It’s not like he can’t figure out some new material.” Lena let her gaze fall to the polished surface of the table, peering past it into old memories. “The new kids are fine. Hana an’ Lúcio just nodded and understood. Ange always got it. It’s the old guard who keep slipping back. Well, and Fareeha. I suppose that makes sense – she practically grew up around me before…”

“But it is not fair to _you_ ,” Amélie insisted quietly, “and you deserve to be called by _your name_ , _ma belle._ ”

Lena smiles through the tears that have pooled in her eyes, and wonders how the hell she got so lucky as to have a lover who _understands_ so well.

Is it any wonder she’d rather be having dinner with Am tonight than sitting through an awkward debriefing and a strained weekend at Gibraltar? Of suffering through another mechanical reminder from Winston to the team to use each member’s preferred pronouns and wishing the accelerator could make her invisible when 76 or McCree or Genji turn their heads just slightly to look at her?

Is it any wonder that she’d rather be _Lena_ and _home_?

“I’ve got pretty much the entire weekend before I’ll need to go back,” she finally observes, and Amélie doesn’t object to the change of subject, “maybe we could go shopping tomorrow?”

“It’s been some time since we had a day out,” her girlfriend agreed, her lips turning up in a challenging smile, “perhaps I may even find a dress you actually enjoy wearing.”

Lena rolled her eyes as she knocked back the last of her wine. “Oh, that’ll be the day…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains discussions of gender dysphoria, body dysmorphia, and a character going through the experience of gender transition. This may be triggering or uncomfortable for some readers.

Sometimes when Lena sleeps she feels the blue _nothing_ engulfing her and she knows it’s a dream – or a nightmare. What do you call memories of something that was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to you?

The oddly distorted roar of engines fills her ears, and she knows what’s about to happen. She shivers as she looks down and sees the body that she’d never quite felt comfortable in, flat chested and lean muscled, beneath the special flight suit Winston had designed, the textbook runner’s build that fit so perfectly into a fighter’s cockpit.

The throttle and stick controls melt out from under her hands as the _Slipstream_ shakes, tearing itself apart. This is wrong wrong _wrong_ what is _happening_?

“Tracer – Tracer come in! We’re reading a drive malfunction! Abort the test! Abort! Can you hear me? _Bill_ , you need to eject!”

Winston’s terrified voice fades out as everything turns into swirling blue light, the cockpit melting like snow in the rain.

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity, the swirling light and strange voices faded into silent darkness before the sound of an old mechanical alarm clock rattled Tracer awake.

“Come on, slugabed! Cook will have your head if you’re not dressed and ready soon!” A girl’s voice – not much older than she was – made Lena groan. Morning had come _far_ too early, and she felt as if she’d been woken from the _strangest_ dream…

“All right, I’m up, I’m up! I’ll get t’dress in a moment!”

Dragging herself away from the warm comfort of her bed, Lena winced as her bare feet touched the cold floors, then padded to the WC to relieve herself before anyone else started banging on her door.

Wait.

 _Her_ door? That…was that right? It _felt_ right. So why was it such a surprise?

Memories suddenly rushed back in a cascade of sounds and images – the _Slipstream_ test – the alarms blaring as Winston yelled to eject – the _light!_ Reeling, she gasped and looked down in shock at her own body.

Gently rising curves instead of a flat chest. Softer, wider hips than she’d ever had before. A smaller woman with a wiry build, but absolutely _female_ , and absolutely _right_ in a way that Lt. William Oxton, RAF, had never been _._ Frantic, she yanked the cotton nightdress she’d been wearing over her head, and what she found made her weak at the knees. For the first time in her life she looked at herself naked and felt comfortable in her own skin.

_Oh._

* * *

Two months after Tracer had been pulled back into reality, she received the OK to leave the Chronal Containment chamber, the weight of the Chronal Accelerator clamped securely around her chest. She starts asking for people to use her call sign when talking to her instead of ‘William’, ‘Bill’, or ‘Billy’.

She doesn’t exactly explain, when people ask her why – just casually mentions that it’s a little easier for her to process after living six or seven different lifetimes in the year that had passed for the rest of the world between the _Slipstream_ disappearing and Winston finally figuring out how to retrieve its lost pilot.

It was another month before she gathered the courage to make her way down to the infirmary and knock on the Chief Medical Officer’s door.

“Hullo, doc. Got a minute?”

Mercy looked up from her desk, smiling at Tracer leaning against the open door to her office.

“Of course, please, come in!” The Swiss woman raised an eyebrow as Tracer shut the office door behind her, but waited for the young agent to sit in the chair facing her before she spoke. “Are you having an issue with the accelerator? Experiencing more disassociation phenomenon?”

“Not...as such, no. Not exactly.” Lena winced at her voice – after hearing what she _could_ sound like, the slightly deeper register of her voice sounded off. It wasn’t _right_ , even if no one else knew that…but that was the point of coming here, wasn’t it? “I need to talk to you about something private. Personal. Related to…what happened.”

Mercy's expression shifted with concern. “I see. Would you prefer this conversation be considered confidential?”

“Yeah. For now, at least.” Lena was surprised how calm she was managing to sound, given her stomach felt like she was pulling a six G turn right now.

The doctor nodded, then pressed a key on her desk. “This will prevent Athena from recording, and the privacy lamp will tell staff I’m not to be disturbed."

Lena sighed with relief, slumping in the chair as much as the accelerator would allow. “Thanks, luv.”

“Of course. I’m your doctor, William. I want you to feel comfortable coming to me about anything.”

Lena winced slightly at the use of her birth name. “Well, that’s actually part of why I needed to talk to you…”

Mercy tilted her head slightly, confusion plain on her face. “Perhaps you should explain, then?”

“I’ve had a problem. Since before what happened with the Slipstream. I didn't feel…right. Like my body didn’t quite fit. As if it wasn’t really _mine_.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but she just made a slight ‘go on’ gesture rather than interrupting.

Lena took a deep breath to steel herself before going onward. “I told you and Winston that I’d experienced…other lives, when I was gone. Other _times_. But what I didn’t tell you was that in every single one, I was a girl.”

Mercy straightened in her chair, a flash of mortification on her face. “I believe I understand, now. And I called you… _Mein gott_ , I am so sorry.”

Lena coughed, embarrassed. “Well, you didn't know.”

“No, but regardless, I’m still very sorry.” Mercy paused, then pressed on. “Gender dysphoria is a serious problem, Tracer. Have you been suffering this in silence since you came to Overwatch?”

“Longer,” Lena admitted, “my whole life, really. It just …it wasn’t something I could really put my finger on, until I had it shoved in my face by the accident. I just felt…disconnected all the time.”

The doctor’s eyes were filled with overwhelming sympathy. “Oh, _maüschen_ …why not tell us before?”

“Doc, flying has always been the one thing in my life that _made sense_ , until now. I couldn't risk being taken off flight status. It would have killed me.” Lena couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Moot point, now.”

The doctor shook her head, gently placing a hand over Lena’s. “I understand why you were afraid, but I would have been happy to treat you confidentially. There’s no reason you had to do this alone.” She paused a moment, then took a careful look into Lena's eyes. “May I ask...what you would prefer we call you?”

Lena closed her eyes, shaking from the thunderstorm raging within her. “Lena. In all of the other places I saw…my name was Lena.”

“I’m Angela, Lena. It’s lovely to meet you.”

She couldn’t help the tears of relief that began spilling down her cheeks. Angela slipped around her desk to wrap her in a comforting hug, not making any mention of the accelerator’s presence between them.

For six months, while Tracer learned how to use the new abilities the Slipstream and her accelerator granted her to make herself a holy terror on the battlefield, Lena met confidentially with Angela nearly every day. Discussing her identity. Counseling. Prescribing medications to help with the depression she’d been hiding behind cheeky one liners and a fighter pilot’s cockiness. Finding things that helped Lena feel more like _herself_ , day by day.

She wasn’t quite ready to come out to the entire organization, but Angela had asked her permission to inform Command before she started hormone therapy, so things could be communicated properly down the ranks to prepare for that day, and Lena had agreed.

Two days after Lena took her first dose of HRT, the Geneva HQ exploded, and Overwatch was gone.

After Lena dealt with her grief from losing so many friends that day – from losing the closest thing she really had to a family – she worked to move on. What other choice did she have?

She met Angela in Zurich every few months to check in over the first two years of therapy, as the hormones did their work. The previously hard and angular planes of her body softened and bloomed into curves as Lena began to feel more and more comfortable within her own skin. The nanotechnology expert even found a way to use her caduceus tech to perform permanent hair removal treatments faster and with less pain than electrolysis or a laser, bless her.

Lena came out to Winston on what she dubbed her first “Trans-iversary.” She wanted the scientist to know because he was one of the closest friends she had – and thankfully he was supportive – but she also had the practical problem of the accelerator needing adjusted to account for her developing breasts and wider hips.

She finds a vocal coach in London who helps her train until she speaks comfortably and naturally in the range she knows is right for her, and Lena can feel the pieces coming together for her every day.

She doesn’t dress all that differently than she did before coming out. Her “professional” kit for adventuring is really no different than it was before the end of Overwatch. When she isn’t ‘working’, Lena still wears t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, and shorts more often than not – she just has a bra and shapewear underneath, now.

Angela buys her a few different things for her to experiment with, sending them along as Christmas or birthday gifts. Some work, some don’t. She’s surprisingly happy in culottes or tights, but the headaches involved with wearing the accelerator with long skirts or dresses leave her frustrated and uncomfortable. 

She just about dies of embarrassment the day she receives a birthday present from the doctor that includes lingerie and a ‘T-string’, but she appreciates the gesture.

Lena’s biggest surprise is how much more…interesting…women became as she transitioned. Sex had never really been something she really went out of her way for, before. That discomfort with her body had left her feeling awkward about intimacy – William had never quite understood how anyone would want to be with him, feeling like that. She hadn’t been a virgin before she transitioned, but hadn’t been far from it, either.

When Lena gets picked up by a woman at the Bombshell Club one night in London, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, and she never looks back. Before long she’s experimenting, tasting, touching, and learning about a whole new aspect of her life that she hadn’t even _considered._

She tries on the label of _Lesbian_ , and it’s not quite right.

She tries calling herself _Queer_ and it’s like putting on her favorite jumper.

She spends most of her 25th birthday in bed with a lover who doesn’t object at all to her need to remain within a certain distance of her ‘medical equipment’, and doesn’t regret a minute of it.

She spends her 26th birthday flying to Gibraltar after Winston issues the recall. Angela and Winston had obviously told some of the old guard what to expect, but there’s still a bit of awkwardness in the way they look at her. She decides to volunteer for the mission to prevent the theft of the Doomfist gauntlet because it’s easier to drop her bags and get stuck in than it is to hang around the Watchpoint feeling like a bug under a microscope.

The first time Tracer fights Widowmaker, the woman’s sheer sexual _presence_ is like a punch in the gut. She’d barely met Gérard Lacroix during her introduction to Overwatch before he’d been killed and his wife reported missing. She hears a few people talk about _Amélie_ when they put up the assassin’s dossier, but it doesn’t really prepare her for the lithe, graceful woman who dances as they fight.

Lena has no idea what you call a fetish for women who can _actually_ kill you, but damn if she doesn’t have it...

* * *

A gentle shaking sensation starts to bring her back to reality. A quiet contralto voice and that devastating French accent as cool fingers stroke along Lena’s back.

“Lena? Lena…wake up, _chérie_ , it’s all right. It’s just a dream.”

When Lena opens her eyes, Amélie’s face is drawn with concern, her golden eyes shining in the darkness of their bedroom.

“Am? Wha…?”

“You started kicking,” her girlfriend explained, “and murmuring about the slipstream. I thought it would be best to wake you.”

“Probably,” Lena admitted, and lets herself be drawn into a tighter embrace, “it was just…I was back there, for a bit. But it was working out by the end.”

“Oh?” A perfectly shaped eyebrow raises, concern turning to interest. “And what did I interrupt, then?”

Lena smiled. “Oh, just remembering the night we met.”

“Ahh.” Leaning in, she gently kissed the shorter woman’s forehead. “Perhaps I can give you a few happier dreams, then.”

With a happy little hum, Lena snuggled in closer as she closed her eyes once again. “I like the sound of that…”


	3. Chapter 3

Amélie Lacroix, or ‘Widowmaker’, when working professionally, frowned at her phone as she sat on the couch in the living room of the apartment she shared with Lena Oxton, a.k.a. the Overwatch agent ‘Tracer’.

“You look as if you’re about to melt a hole in your mobile, love.” Speak (or, at least, think) of the devil and she appeared, her eyes touched with concern. “Bad news?”

Amélie considered that before answering, her eyes flicking from her lover to the screen again. “Not…exactly, no. I’ve been offered a job.”

Lena sat down, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah? Not Talon again, is it?” As much as Lena joked about ‘putting food on the table’, neither of them really enjoyed the possibility of facing each other when Widowmaker’s ‘creators’ were involved. Not after the efforts she’d gone to remove herself from their control. Far better for both of them when Amélie found ‘freelance’ work that would keep her off Overwatch’s radar.

Shaking her head, the Frenchwoman turned her phone so that Lena could see the email which had arrived from the anonymous brokerage service she’d set up to handle her ‘booking’.

An email that was dominated by the Overwatch logo.

“Oh.” Lena leaned back, thoughtfully scratching at the back of her head. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s…complicated. Must be something coming up Winston thinks we need a sniper for.”

Amélie raised an eyebrow. “What has happened to the bowman? Or Amari?”

“Hanzo broke a hand on his last run, poor sod.” Lena sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Cap…hasn’t been around much. I think she’s mostly chasing after the Jack-and-Gabe show these days and trying to figure out if she wants to help them or smack ’em both.”

Amélie hummed thoughtfully, reading the email again. “Your friend is certainly offering compelling payment. It would require me to be in Gibraltar in two days.”

Lena bit her lip as she considered the situation. “If Winston’s asking, I think we genuinely need the help. I’d hate to see anyone else get hurt because we didn’t have things covered. So…if you want to go, luv, I’m OK with it.”

Reaching for her lover, she drew the Englishwoman against her, lightly kissing her forehead. “After all you have been forced to hide from them, I do not like making you carry another secret. Not after spending so long hiding who you truly were.”

Lena snuggled into her, the gentle touch of her lips warm against Amélie’s unnaturally cool cheek. “It’s not really an extra secret – it’s not like we’ve been out and about with anyone there. But it means a lot that you think about that, Am. It really does.”

Amélie gently kissed the shorter woman’s forehead. “ _Je t’aime,_ Lena. I will go – if nothing else it will be nice to make a little money that isn’t connected to Talon or Vishkar.”

“So,” Lena asked thoughtfully, “how do you want to play this?”

Amélie chuckled throatily, and Lena looked up at her with increasing interest. “Tracer and Widowmaker hate each other, of course. We should play the part that they expect.”

Lena snorted with amusement, then reached up to pull her in for a kiss. “Marvy. This should be fun.”

* * *

The hardest part was keeping a straight face. Fortunately, Talon had given Widowmaker a great deal of experience in that regard.

She’d taken the train from London to Paris, just in case her movements might be followed, then another from Paris to Madrid before renting a car and driving it over the better part of a day.

She had delivered the rental car to a return lot near the border before making her way to the Watchpoint perimeter on foot in civilian clothes, her weapons and combat suit stored in a slab sided Anvil case she carried in one hand.

Winston appeared to greet her within moments of her arrival. Dressed in the armor that he seemed to wear any time he left his lab, Widowmaker at least appreciated that he’d left his lightning gun back at the office.

“ _Bonsoir_ ,” she greeted the hulking figure as he landed with a bone-jarring thump in front of her, “I am here as you requested.”

“Thank you for coming,” the gorilla’s deep voice was surprisingly sincere as he began walking her towards the main building, “I appreciate your willingness to work with us. I assume you have everything you need?”

She hefted the case, and Winston nodded. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat and continued hesitantly, “I have to warn you that I was waiting to brief the team for this operation about your assistance until you arrived. I’m afraid that a few of them…may not be happy about working with you.”

Internally, Amélie was laughing, but Widowmaker just offered a dismissive snort as she rolled her eyes. “Oh, _ma chérie_ is not happy to see me? I am crushed.”

“Yes, well…” Winston coughed, then tapped a code out to open the hangar door. “If you’d care to go inside and get dressed, Athena will light up a path on the floor to lead you to where you can change while I explain your role on this operation to the team, and we’ll hold a mission briefing on the flight to the OZ. Feel free to leave your case and clothes there, and you can collect them once we return, along with your payment.”

“ _D’accord_ ,” Widowmaker agreed dryly, “I will be ready shortly, then.”

When she returned to the hangar, Widowmaker carefully concealed herself behind a stack of crates so she could hear Winston’s introduction.

“Before we head out, I wanted to brief you all on some…unusual assistance we’ll be bringing along for this mission. Since Mercy hasn’t cleared Hanzo for combat, I felt it was important to make sure we had sniper cover for this escort operation.”

Lena, bless her, had apparently decided to play her part to the hilt. “How’d you get Cap to beg off from covering 76, then? Will she be meeting us at the OZ or did she make it here in time?”

Winston sighed. “I didn’t, actually, and she’s not.”

Lena’s voice dripped with dread. “Wait. You’re not _serious_ , are you? You _didn’t_.”

She wasn’t going to get a better cue than that.

Stepping around the crates, she began walking towards where Tracer and Winston stood. She swept her gaze over the rest to the team to size them up – the Cowboy, the Korean MEKA girl, and the Brazilian DJ. She could play to that audience. Widowmaker put a little extra sway into her hips, the Widow’s Kiss slung over one shoulder, her combat suit, visor, and gauntlets painted in a new pattern of oranges, reds, and blended browns to fit the arroyo and desert they’d be working in.

With a sultry smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes (though she knew Lena could detect her genuine amusement behind it), Widowmaker offered a mocking little bow to Tracer. “Oh, but he _did_. It seems we’ll be working _together_ this time, _chérie.”_

Tracer turned away with a huff. “Don’t think I’m happy about that either!” Looking over at Winston, she crossed her arms under the body of her accelerator. “You _really_ couldn’t think of a better option? I’m reasonably informed other snipers exist, you know.”

“She was the best option in the timeframe we had to find a suitable freelance operative – and since she’s no longer a part of Talon,” Winston admitted, “there’s no reason _not_ to make use of her services in a situation where we need them.”

Tracer sighed darkly. “God, I hope we don’t end up regretting this.”

Widowmaker smirked, strolling to the open ramp of the Orca transport where the Korean girl’s pink robot waited inside the aircraft, as if encouraging them to hurry up. Tracer had turned away, fiddling with one of her pistols, so Amélie decided to up the ante a bit, swinging her arm back just a bit further than she needed to, then bringing it forward for a meaty _smack_ against the younger woman’s shapely bottom that resounded in the suddenly silent hangar like a thunderclap.

“ _Non_ ,” Widowmaker said breezily as she climbed the ramp, “ _je ne regrette rien_.”

“Well,” she heard the cowboy drawl before she disappeared into the passenger cabin, “ _this_ ought to be all kinds of fun.”

* * *

The operation was straightforward enough – escorting some military hardware that the Deadlock gang had attempted to steal by blasting a US Army hypertrain off its tracks. A hovertruck had been provided to move the containers of equipment they needed to secure, and an armored convoy would be meeting them once they’d cleared Deadlock territory to take possession. All they had to do was make sure everything arrived safely.

At the start of the mission, Tracer and Widowmaker had both kept up the ‘we obviously still hate each other’ act they’d put on for everyone else’s benefit back at the Watchpoint.  After a few warnings from Winston, they’d settled into keeping things carefully professional as the Overwatch team moved the hover truck through the gorge and to the payload’s planned drop point, keeping a wary eye out despite the apparent lack of opposition. It wasn’t long before they had settled into a routine, Tracer occasionally scouting ahead, Widowmaker periodically relocating to cover them from above.

As the truck turned onto the final stretch, Widowmaker pulled herself into a clapped out building and took position at a window that would give her a good vantage point. Rolling a crick out of her neck, the sniper had become so bored by the lack of any enemy presence that she made a grave mistake: she forgot who would be listening when she keyed her comm. “What do you want to do about dinner tonight, _chérie_?”

Tracer, just as bored from where she sat on the truck’s wide running board, answered her girlfriend’s question without thinking. “I dunno. Do you really feel like cooking tonight? Especially by the time we fly home?”

Widowmaker considered that for a moment and then sighed as she swept her rifle’s scope over the ground. “I suppose not. I should have prepared something in advance.”

“It’s fine, pet.” Tracer’s voice had begun to veer more towards _Lena_ , picking up a bit more warmth. “Takeaway, then? I could go for a curry.”

Widow rolled her eyes, more than a bit of _Amélie_ in her exasperated tone. “You _always_ want Indian food.”

“I can’t help that it’s delicious!” Lena went silent for a second, and when Widow flicked her scope over, she could see the younger woman shrug. “Could always go for a cheeky Nan –”

“No,” Widowmaker interrupted flatly, "we will not.”

Lena huffed, and Widowmaker could actually see her lover’s chestnut forelock ruffle slightly through the scope. “All right, _fine_. Seriously, though…maybe Italian? Haven’t had Italian in ages.”

Widowmaker considered that for a moment and then nodded, even though she couldn’t be seen from her position. “Mm. You’re right, we have not. Italian will do.” As the truck neared the final bend before the drop, Widow fired her grapple and zipped herself to a new sniping perch, letting the subject drop.

The silence lasted about ten more seconds before Winston cautiously said, “Ah…do you have something you might like to tell us, Tracer?”

The sound of Lena’s forehead smacking into her palm was quite clear. “Oh, _bugger.”_

“Oh. Em. Gee.” Hana’s voice was filled with something that Widowmaker could only describe as ‘horrified delight’. “Lite-Brite! _Seriously?_ How long?”

Lena’s only response was an aggrieved moan.

“Wait,” McCree interrupted with a slightly offended tone, “so all that fussin’ you two were doing back at Gibraltar was an _act_?”

“They had me fooled,” Lúcio admitted sheepishly, “ _damn_ girl. Was that, like, couples’ therapy for you guys?”

Some puckish part of Amélie’s soul couldn’t help but pile in, her voice full of mock-innocence. “I’m not at all sure what you mean, _monsieur_ _grenouille._ It certainly had nothing to do with _ma petite chou_ forgetting to do the dishes before I left.”

“Oh,” Tracer sighed, “don’t _you_ start. I apologized, didn’t I? Made breakfast, even!”

Widowmaker made a noncommittal hum before repositioning again. 150 more meters and they’d be finished with the job. “I suppose that was…adequate.”

Tracer had climbed from the running board to the top of the payload to find Widowmaker’s new position, trying to glare in the general direction of where she’d concealed herself. “Oi! I can give you all kinds of _adequate_ tonight, luv…”

Winston interrupted with a long suffering sounding growl. “ _Lena_ , let’s please stay focused for a few more minutes? We’re nearly to the drop.”

Whatever Lena had been about to say was washed away by Widowmaker’s voice suddenly coming back on the line with a whip crack of intensity. “I have movement at the drop point. Deadlock.”

Winston’s voice was equally professional as he took command. “How many?”

Widowmaker snapped her recon visor into place, the colors around her becoming washed with red as the sensors isolated the different heat signatures and began to broadcast her targeting data. “Eleven,” she reported, then stilled herself, slowly exhaling as she tracked a silhouette moving between rocks. In just a moment… _there._ The Widow’s Kiss kicked against her shoulder, and she allowed the satisfaction of a good kill to color her voice when she spoke again. “Ten, now.”

Winston grunted an acknowledgement as he began to issue orders. “Understood. Tracer, get moving to flank – D.Va, Lúcio, keep the payload covered. McCree, we’re headed up – it looks like they were planning to hit us at the choke point. Let’s give them a bigger problem. Widowmaker – take shots as they present themselves.”

The first sounds of alarm reached their ears as the Deadlock bandits reacted to their comrade going down, and all of them had more important things to do than discuss dinner plans.

* * *

When the Deadlock party that had planned to ambush them had been dealt with and the payload safely turned over, the Overwatch team and their ‘contractor’ began to assemble at the top of a nearby rise as Winston called for their transport using Athena’s autopilot function.

Widowmaker landed at the rendezvous point, retracting her grapple back into the housing on her gauntlet, and swept her gaze over the cowboy and the ‘scientist’, as Lena insisted she refer to him, daring them to say a word. Her blood was still quickened by the fight, her body not quite ready to relinquish the adrenaline high she’d been riding from the moment of her first shot. If either had challenged her on her newly revealed relationship with their teammate, she’d have happily given them a furious argument as a way to burn some of that energy off.

When Tracer joined them in a flash of blue light, dirty and a bit scuffed but apparently otherwise unharmed, Widowmaker crossed the dusty ground to her lover and seized her in a possessive, passionate kiss, some part of her observing dryly that this was a _far_ better use for her energy.

“Oh, _hello_ ,” Lena breathed as she finally allowed the shorter woman to come up for air, “if I’d known I had that waiting for me, I wouldn’t have taken my time.”

“If there’s no point in hiding any longer,” Amélie murmured, “I am taking full advantage.” She moved in for another kiss, one arm tightening around the Brit’s waist, when they were interrupted by the sound of a wolf whistle coming over a loudspeaker – specifically the speakers installed at the front of Hana’s big pink mech.

Giving the girl a glare through the tinted green glass of her cockpit, Widowmaker reluctantly stepped back, giving Lena’s hip a subtle squeeze as they disengaged. “Perhaps we should finish this later.”

“Yeaaaah,” Tracer drawled reluctantly, looking over at where Winston was giving them an incredulous look, “probably a good idea.”

“So,” the audio-medic asked Widowmaker cautiously as he skated up to where they stood, “does this mean you’re officially a good guy now?”

Widowmaker shrugged. “ _Mais non_ , I do not think of myself as particularly one or the other. You offered me a job. I took it.”

Lúcio frowned, “Yeah, OK, but what about you and Speedy…?”

Winston coughed from behind them before either woman could respond. “The Orca will be here in five minutes. Perhaps this is a conversation that should be held…later.” His eyes flicked to Tracer, then over to Widowmaker. “Much. Later.”


	4. Chapter 4

Lena had expected there would be fallout from her relationship with Am being revealed.

She hadn't expected to be sitting in the rec room lounge with D.Va (and it was  _definitely_ D.Va right now, not Hana) looming over her, a flashlight in hand as the younger woman tried to sweat Lena like the baddie in some cheesy old detective film. “So, you _really_ thought you could get away with this, Oxton?”

Squinting through her goggles, Lena didn't bother keeping the confusion from her voice. “Um...yes? I think?”

D.Va scoffed, blowing and popping a bubble with her gum. “Uh-huh. I get why you didn't want to let us know you were dating tall, blue, and scary, but not even telling us you had a _girlfriend!?_ ” The Korean girl snapped her gum again, then pouted. “I thought we were bros, Lena.”

Lena huddled down a bit in the overstuffed chair with embarrassment. “Sorry, luv. I just...I like you and Lúcio, you know that, but it's been hard letting most anyone into my private life since the Recall. You know how many issues I've run into. I didn't even tell _Angie_ or Winston, you know?”

Hana considered that for a few moments, the flashlight wavering. “I guess I can understand that. But do you have any _idea_ how much teasing I've lost out on? You owe us, like, at least six months of giving you crap.”

“Totally,” Lúcio piped up from behind the chair, making Lena jump slightly, “But I guess we can forgive her as long as she takes her medicine, right?”

“I suppose,” Hana admitted with mock reluctance as she clicked the flashlight off, “this time.” Putting the flashlight down, she crossed her arms. “But you'd _better_ make it up to us.”

Lena straightened up, blinking the spots out of her eyes.  “Yeah? How's that work, then?”

Hana flashed a wolfish grin. “Grab your phone, call your girl, and we are going _shopping._ ”

Lena groaned. “Awww, really? You know I'm rubbish for the girl’s day out stuff.”

“Sure,” Hana laughed, “but I bet _she’s_ pretty good at it!”

Lena opened her hands, her voice warming as she conceded the point. “Well…yeah.”

“This is all you guys,” Lúcio declared as he headed for the door, “Catch you for your stream tomorrow, Hana?”

The Korean girl nodded. “You’re on!” Turning her focus back to Lena, she raised an eyebrow. “Soooo, I don't see you dialing…”

Lena made a show of digging into her Shearing jacket’s pocket for her phone with a sigh. “Right, right...” Punching her favorites up, she hit the contact labeled “A.” _I guess I could change that now. Not like there’s a point in trying to hide anything else._

The line connected, and despite her reluctance Lena couldn't help but smile as Am answered the phone. “Hullo, gorgeous. No, no, everything’s all right. Got any plans this afternoon…?”

* * *

One of the things that has surprised Lena Oxton the most about Amélie Lacroix, once they began their relationship, was the way she handled her unusual skin color.

From her experiences from the Slipstream accident and her life until she'd come out of the closet, Lena had expected Am to conceal her blue skin with makeup or other coverings. To _pass_ , and blend in.

Amélie Lacroix, she quickly learned, didn't give a damn if she blended in. When she wasn’t working, she dressed appropriately for the occasion, but the only makeup she normally wore to go out was a bit of eyeliner and lipstick unless she’d decided to pull out a few more stops for a meeting or date night. Amélie’s skin was blue - perhaps a thistle shade of purple if one was being _extremely_ generous. If that fact made people uncomfortable, it was their problem, not hers, and she dared them to say a word with every step she took.

It was just another expression of the stunning self-confidence that made the sniper so _insanely_ attractive in Lena’s eyes. Lena still occasionally had to pinch herself and make sure she wasn't dreaming when she remembered they'd been in a relationship for nearly two years now. (Well, a year of that might have been best described as ‘enemies with benefits’, if she was honest, but still…)

Despite having to hop a commercial suborbital from London to La Linea, Amélie had somehow beaten them to the shopping arcade they’d agreed on for the outing.

Sipping at a steaming paper cup of coffee as she waited out of the rain, the Frenchwoman had dressed in spotless boots, black tights that hugged her legs, a rose colored blouse that somehow didn’t clash with her skin, and a long black raincoat that hung open off of her shoulders. She looked like she'd just stepped out of an issue of Vogue and Lena felt a brief flash of inadequacy for her bright yellow Mackintosh and old jeans until the sniper caught sight of her. She watched those golden eyes light with warmth like a rising sun, the heat in her gaze washing away Lena’s brief uncertainties.

“ _Bonjour_ , _chérie.”_ Amélie tasted of coffee and something cool and sweet as she greeted her girlfriend with a kiss, and Lena had to admit she enjoyed the sound of Hana’s aggrieved groan at the spectacle they made.

“Ok, ok, I get it, she's cute. C’mon Spidey, let her up for air.” A small part of Lena’s mind that wasn’t occupied with the snogging wondered if Hana practiced that aggrieved, eye rolling tone of voice. How did that even work? Was that a skill she’d developed for her streams or just something Lena had missed out on because she hadn’t been a teenage girl?

Amélie left one more kiss on Lena’s cheek, as if to prove the point, then stepped back with a smirk. “And hello to you, _petite lapine_. So, a shopping trip, then?”

“Well,” Hana admitted, “that and gossip. And maybe getting our nails done. Because _someone_ had been keeping _secrets_.” The Korean gamer had a smirk that managed be even more devious than the sniper’s as she slipped past Lena to take Amélie’s arm in hers, the bright pink of her rain slicker almost glowing against the older woman’s coat as they went inside. “So I want to hear some _dirt_.”

Suddenly Lena understood why this had been intended as a _punishment_ , hanging her head as she followed the pair into the mall. “Bugger me…”

* * *

Amélie enjoyed shopping with Lena, but she had to admit it was occasionally a bit of an ordeal. For all her lover would protest she didn’t care for certain outfits, or picking out items beyond fairly basic needs, she never failed to grab three or four items at a time off the racks once she got over her hesitation.

Normally she was happy to encourage Lena to expand her wardrobe past a fairly simple collection of hoodies, jumpers, t-shirts, tights or trousers, but it hadn’t taken long for Amélie to realize that part of Lena’s problems with shopping had nothing to do with her transition or the complications of her accelerator harness. It was that, as much as she loved the little maniac, Lena had the worst eye for colors she’d ever experienced.

“No, oh, no no _non_ , Lena, _ma chou_ …” She wasn’t sure who had told Lena that eye-searing neon greens and chocolate browns were ever an acceptable combination, but if Amélie ever found out, the Widowmaker might just pay them a visit from a kilometer away. Gently plucking the obscenely loud top from Lena’s hands before she could put it into their cart, she swept her eyes over the rack, trying to find a more complimentary version.

“Aw, you sure? I thought it’d be really Spring-ish.” Lena’s pout was difficult to resist even in the face of fashion crimes, but thankfully Amélie had an ally today.

“Ew, no,” Hana wasn’t nearly so subtle as she made a gagging retch, “more like a toxic waste spill at the chocolate bunny factory.”

Lena looked away with an embarrassed laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“In so many words…” After a few moments she had found a better combination, taking a warm yellow top that would complement Lena’s eyes and a cream colored pair of trousers. “Perhaps these?”

Lena smiled gratefully, taking the hangers from her and holding them up against her body. “Oh, that is pretty nice! What do you think, Hana? Bit less of a disaster?”

“Much,” the Korean girl agreed with a wink, “so that’s three for each of us - you want to go try a few things on?”

“There’s only two changing rooms,” Amélie looked over at Lena with a slightly mischievous smile, “and as much fun as it would be to share, perhaps the two of you should start.”

Hana snorted as she began to steer the cart away. “Yeah, I’d really like to have _one_ shopping trip that doesn’t end with someone getting arrested.”

Amélie smiled as Lena joined her, the smaller woman slipping an arm around her waist as she giggled. “In fairness, that only happened to Jesse the once.”

“Uh-huh,” Hana shook her head, “and Hanzo, like, twice, and somehow _Genji_ even though they’re both supposed to be _ninjas_. What’s the point of being a ninja if you can’t get away from the cops while you’re grocery shopping?”

Lena shrugged. “In theory they were trying to set a good example by cooperating. I think."

Hana turned her head and stuck out her tongue. “ _I_ think they were just trying to keep angel Mom from killing them when she found out they got busted in the first place.”

Amélie couldn’t help but agree. “ _L’ange_ does have a temper...”

Sitting on a bench while Lena and Hana went in to change, Amélie amused herself by flipping through a few messages on her phone (the problem with becoming her own boss, she’d learned, was that so many fools tried to hire Widowmaker for the most _ridiculous_ things) when she suddenly felt a prickling at the back of her neck. Almost like…

Her eyes snapped up, right arm whipping out, fingers extended for a knife hand strike at what seemed to be empty air.

“Ay!” The air shimmered just beyond the sniper’s fingertips, turning shades of pink and purple before resolving into Sombra, her usual asymmetrical outfit traded for ripped up jeans and a lavender T-shirt decorated with her iconic skull logo. “Do you always say hello that way, _amiga_?”

She couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes at the hacker. “When I am greeting someone who likes to sneak up on me unannounced, yes.” Relaxing, Amélie finally smiled, just enough to take the sting out of her words. “What are you doing here, _ombre_?”

Sombra cracked a grin, settling down on the bench herself. “I heard the words ‘shopping’, ‘gossip’, and ‘dirt’. It was like you were sending out an engraved invitation!” Waving a hand towards the changing room doors, the Mexican girl’s expression softened slightly. “Besides, I was interested in actually getting a look at _tu novia_ that didn’t involve shooting at each other.”

“I suppose there is that,” Amélie admitted, “I suppose you know the Song girl is here too?”

“I may ask for an autograph later,” Sombra observed, “but aside from subscribing to her stream we don’t talk that much. This should be fun - we can mess with both you and your little _bombilla_.”

“I suppose it would be pointless to ask if you could behave yourself.” Sombra’s mock-innocent smile in response to Amélie’s dry observation was an answer all its own, but before she could say anything else, the door to the changing rooms opened and Lena was strolling out in the yellow and cream outfit, her accelerator loosely buckled over the top, the straps that normally hugged her legs left to dangle so she could change easily.

“So, how do…?” Her voice trailed off as she realized her girlfriend was not waiting alone, and her head tilted slightly in confusion. “Um, hiya. Did...are you…?”

Sombra gave Amélie an indulgent look that she easily translated as _this is the girl who drives you so crazy? Really?_ Before she could explain the hacker’s uninvited arrival, though, Sombra had turned back to Lena with a surprisingly genuine smile.

“I look a little different when we’re not trying to shoot each other, huh?” Standing, she gave a little bow, her undercut hair flipping down her shoulder and then back as she stood. “ _Hola, me llamo Sombra_. But I’m pretty sure you knew that, Lena.”

Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, but Amélie could tell she was pleased that Sombra had given her the courtesy of her real name while they were ‘off the clock’. “Mm. Interesting to see you when we’re not at work, yeah? Did Am actually invite you, or…?”

Amélie let out a long suffering sigh. “Apparently she decided the chance for some ‘ _dirt’_ as Hana put it, was too good to pass up.”

Lena nodded, her mouth pinching slightly, and a knot of tension suddenly started to grow in the sniper’s stomach. She didn't want Lena to start feeling piled on. “Oh. Well…ok, then.”

Sombra surprised them both by giving Lena a reassuring wink. “Hey, don't worry - anything Song gets out of your girl, I'll trade for a few things about _arándana_.”

Lena’s face immediately brightened, and Amélie felt relief as the knot disappeared as quickly as it had formed, though she kept her face carefully nonchalant. “I do have a _name_ , you know. Occasionally you might use it.”

Sombra snorted. “Where's the fun in that?” Turning back to Lena as she hid a giggle behind her hand, the hacker backed up with a little wave of her hand. “Anyway - let’s get a better look at your outfit. Give us a twirl.”

Lena complied, with the slight complication of nearly elbowing Hana in the ribs as the mech pilot came out to join them. “Whoops! Sorry, luv!”

“S’ok,” Hana shrugged the near miss away, giving a nod to the outfit being modeled. “Not bad! Looks good on you. Did I hear you guys talking to someone?”

Sombra raised her cybernetically augmented hand in a wave as Amélie sorted through her selections, figuring out the order she’d try them on. “Boop!”

“Ohhh.” Hana smirked as the realization hit her. “So that's what you look like when you're not wearing the world’s worst coat.”

Sombra rolled her eyes. “This from the girl in a hot pink robot and _bunny ears_.”

Lena snuck over to the bench as the gamer and hacker began playfully savaging each other’s fashion choices, her voice dropping into a stage whisper. “I could put my regular clothes back on and we could sneak out to Starbucks while they're distracted…”

Amélie raised an eyebrow. “Tempting…”

The sniping pair of women turned at that, disturbingly similar smiles on their faces.

“Lena’s still got two more outfits back there, Spidey.”

“And you’ve got some dresses to try on yourself, _Amélie_.”

Exchanging a bemused glance with Lena, Amélie sighed. “On second thought, Sombra, perhaps you should go back to the nicknames.”

* * *

In the end, Lena had left with all three of the outfits she’d tried on, Amélie purchased two dresses out of the four she taken to try on, and Hana had settled on a few new tops but discarded the skirt she’d tried on after Sombra had compared it to “a zebra that got hit by a cotton candy machine.”

Sitting in chairs at the nail salon that Hana had declared their next stop, Amélie carefully examined one freshly manicured hand, her nails now a subtly shimmering gold.

“Oo,” Lena cooed happily, “that is perfect, Am. It suits you right down to the ground.”

Amélie nodded, quite satisfied. “I’m very pleased with it myself, _chérie._ Have you decided on your color?”

Lena nibbled her lower lip in thought as she tapped a bright blue shade on the chair’s touchscreen that nearly matched the glow from her accelerator. “This one, I think. The rose pink wasn't bad, but might as well stand out, right?”

“It's a good look,” Sombra agreed, her own nails now a vibrant pink at the tips that shaded back to a rich purple, “it’s very you.” As the autospa began to work on the Englishwoman’s hands, the hacker took advantage of her now captive audience. “Speaking of, I have to ask - why all the pants?”

“Huh?” Lena’s brow furrowed, unable to parse the jump in subjects. “Why all the pants what, luv?”

Amélie couldn't help but smile as she sat back in her chair. Finally, some backup…

“All the outfits, _bombilla_. All pants or tights. No skirts? No dresses? You've got cute legs. Why not show them off?”

Lena’s blush was adorable. Another little memory for Amélie’s private collection. “Really? You think they're cute?”

“Of course they are!” Sombra leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “Do you know how many times I caught _Amélie_ checking them out? That visor can download its recorded footage…”

Amélie glared over her love’s head at the hacker, but the shy little smile Lena offered her drained some of the venom from it. “You are telling tales again, _ombre._ ”

Sombra winked, utterly unconcerned about the Widowmaker’s wrath. “Just helping out _mis amigas_ , that's all…”

Rolling her eyes, Amélie settled back into the chair, crossing her arms. “I think I am beginning to wish you would go back to calling me a blueberry.”

“That can be arranged for the right price, _Amélie._ But I'm letting this go off the rails - why don't you try more of those on, Lena?”

Unable to move her hands while the chair worked on her nails, Lena settled for ducking her head bashfully. “I never feel that comfortable in them, I look like a goose - and there’s this bloody thing to consider,” she admitted as she looked down at the accelerator, “I'd be worried about not having the leg rigging, or leaving it loose.”

Amélie gently placed a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “I think you look lovely.” Lena leaned her head over, cheek resting against her fingers, and Amélie savored the warmth.

Sombra looked thoughtful, and Hana was leaning in now, too, offering her own opinion with her usual directness. “I can think of a few styles I bet you'd rock if you tried ‘em. Besides - don't think of it as a dress. Think of it as a shirt so big you don't have to wear pants!”

Lena laughed, blushing again. “I suppose it would be, yeah? I'll keep that in mind!”

“I don't want to sound rude -” Sombra began before being interrupted.

“There's a first,” Hana observed, “right?”

Sombra stuck out her tongue, getting a laugh from Lena and a subtle smile from Amélie before going on. “Seriously, though, if the harness you use to fight is too much for day to day, why not ask Harambe -”

“Winston.”

“- to make you a second one?” Magnificently ignoring Lena’s interjection, Sombra gestured to the glowing device. “How often do you need to go blinking around the place when you're not being Tracer? Couldn't he give you...I don't know, a more casual version that doesn't need the extra stuff?”

Lena blushed, burying her head against her shirt. “Never really asked, honestly. Back when I first started my hormones he adjusted a few things, since I didn't have a chest to speak of before...most of that was just the straps and frame.” The Brit paused, her eyes distressed, and Amélie shifted her fingers so she could lightly stroke the back of Lena’s neck. “I know it sounds stupid but it never occurred to me. That I could use a different one or that he could even _do_ that. It's always…”

Amélie shot Sombra a quelling look before she could go on. “It's not stupid, _chérie_. You had to make it a part of you. It's how you survived. Changing that can feel...impossible, sometimes.” As impossible as, say, finding a way to leave the organization who literally shattered and remade her in their own image…

Leaning in to gently kiss Lena’s forehead, Amélie offered another reassuring squeeze, her lover responding with a happy little noise in the back of her throat. Lena’s whispered “Love you, Am” was for her, and her alone, and she breathed back “ _Je t’aime”_ just as privately before straightening up.

“Besides,” she continued sardonically, just a touch of Widowmaker’s acerbic tones in her voice, “not all of us can adjust ourselves by installing software updates.”

Sombra got the message, flopping back in a dramatic flounce. “I was late for movie night _once_ because of that. _Once_! Are you ever going to let it go?”

Amélie smirked, though she still felt a touch of concern as Lena gradually unfolded herself from her defensive posture. “No, not while it is still useful."

* * *

In the end they left Hana and Sombra to their own devices at the video game parlor at one end of the arcade. Lena would need to head back to the watchpoint later, but it wasn't hard for Amélie to talk her into hopping a suborb flight back to London with her for the evening.

In contrast to the rain in Spain, the London skies were clear, if a bit cold, and they'd decided to take steaming mugs of soup out to their apartment balcony, nestled against each other on the _chaise_.

Amélie didn't recall having much of an interest in astronomy in her old life, but she could spend hours listening to Lena talk about the different stars, constellations, and planets - as much as could be seen against the city’s light pollution, at least.

“One of these days,” Lena promised as she snuggled in after setting her empty mug on a side table, “we’ll have to go out to the countryside with a good ‘scope, and try some really deep targets - galaxies, nebulae, and all that. Things you couldn’t pick out well from here.”

“I would like that very much,” Amélie agreed as she set her own mug aside, then drew a blanket over them, “perhaps we could have a little vacation.”

Amélie didn’t care about being cold, but she rather preferred being warm like this, with her _belle lumière_ curled against her like a little radiator with a happy sigh beneath the thick fleece, enjoying the quiet for a long time before Lena spoke again, her voice hushed. “Am?”

“Mm?” Amélie blinked her eyes a few times, having nearly fallen asleep with Lena in her arms. “ _Quoi?_ ”

Lena shifted a bit so she could look up, her eyes just slightly uncertain. “Do you ever regret...any of what lead us here?”

She couldn’t help the frown on her face at that question. “Are you asking if I regret you, Lena?”

Lena shrugged slightly, and Amélie held her a bit closer. “I have never regretted anything which lead to us, _chérie._ Not one thing.” Her voice trailed off as she considered what to say next, buying a little time by gently kissing the top of Lena’s head, closing her eyes and enjoying the distinctive smell of her before she spoke again.

“I suppose I do regret some of what came before. Our marriage was troubled, but I did not wish for Gérard to die. Had Talon not...interfered...I suspect we would have divorced before long, and gone our separate ways. But I am not the same woman today, just as you were not the same person after your accident. Even you cannot change the past so much, _ma petit chou_. There’s no reason to dwell on it.”

Lena’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’d never said that before - about you and Gérard, I mean. Cap and a lot of the old guard talked a lot about happy the two of you were.”

“We knew how to put on a good show,” Amélie admitted, “but...no. Gérard was a good man, but he was much like Amari or Morrison. There was no such thing as ‘time off’ for him. It was always _la mission_ , and when he finished one battle he was already planning for the next. I think that is why they were such good friends, but it made life with him difficult, at times.”

“Oh,” Lena murmured, absorbing that new information, “and now?”

Amélie smiled as she traced a finger along her lover’s arm. “You are a brave, talented, and compassionate fighter, _mon amour_...but when you come home, you are not _Tracer_ , and I do not have to be Widowmaker. You are just _Lena_ , and I am your Amélie, and it makes me very, very happy.”

Her earlier doubts gone, Lena smiled, her eyes shining as she reached up to gently draw Amélie down for a kiss. “Me, too.”

It wasn’t long before they made their way inside, and into bed. Eventually, Lena slept, the accelerator carefully hung on a hook next to the bed, her hair tousled, their legs intertwined as Amélie gently stroked her back.

She thought of the earlier conversations they’d had. Lena’s birthday would be coming in May. She knew exactly the telescope Lena wouldn’t buy for herself - money was not a problem for either of them between the proceeds of Tracer’s adventuring career and Widowmaker’s rather exorbitant fees for her talents, but Lena rarely spent a great deal of money on luxuries for herself.

That was a habit Amélie was still trying to gently break her of, but at least it made birthday and holiday shopping a bit easier.

After a moment, she had decided to contact Winston tomorrow, after Lena had left to return to Gibraltar, and inquire how difficult it would be to create a ‘casual’ version of the accelerator, just as Sombra had suggested. If nothing else, the scientist had almost a decade of progress to draw on for refining the device. She had no doubt that would be expensive, too, but perhaps she’d offer to run a few more ‘operations’ for Overwatch to help defer the cost.

Lena sighed happily beneath her touch, and stirred slightly before brushing her lips gently over the nearest bit of Amélie that she could reach - her shoulder, in this case. “Y’should sleep, luv.”

She smiled at her lover’s sleepy words, kissing her temple. “Soon, _ch_ _érie_ ,” she soothed, “I promise.”

“Mmkay.”

She watched Lena’s breathing deepen, her body relaxing. Memories stirred by their earlier conversation flicked through her mind briefly as she watched her love pass into a deeper sleep.

Even in his sleep, Gérard had never eased or relaxed like this - some little part of him always tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. It had seemed dashing, at the start of their relationship - the faithful, stalwart soldier, ever ready to defend his country. But the constant vigilance, the wariness, the _paranoia_...no. No, their marriage had been anything but a happy one, near the end. So many nights where he was the one staying awake, unwilling to rest before she did.

She’d thought she had been in love, when they had married.

How strange that years later, this impossible girl would be the one to show her what that feeling was really supposed to be like.

Gently brushing her lips against Lena Oxton’s forehead, Amélie Lacroix drew their bodies closer, and happily followed her into a contented sleep.


End file.
